*Sarah walks onto thread to find it an odd assortment of chaos: SpaceVixen with pompoms -- Halo 'meeping' and hunting for tissue -- Kelen getting tense -- Lina squeezing Aragorn…again -- Tom going pale -- RainyDayz wielding a super-soaker -- saige and Starfleet Hobbit dying of suspense -- Cheysuli making a very bloody end to a bunch of orcs -- and sabercrazy with a- *blinks* -a chainsaw.*
*shouts to be heard over the racket*
Carrie: Thanks! And no, I'm beginning to think that nobody is as protective as Lina… I can't say for Siri, but for myself: I've already read Being Estel on Cassia's site and it was very cute, if a little on the gray-hair inducing side! Great work! : )
Freakizimi: A film, eh? Boy that's a scary thought… And as it happens, originally all the chapters *did* include both characters, but when some of the chapters that were supposed to be only eight pages got lengthened to eighteen pages, we were forced to divide them into two (or sometimes even three) different pieces, thus leaving our heroes with several solo chapters. Interesting trivia bit: this story was originally only seventeen chapters long. Anyhow, sorry about that! : )
None (do you have a screen name?): *innocently* Who said he was going to warn Thranduil? After all: that's the *sane* thing to do. ; )
Artemisa: Glad you approve! We rather feared 'Kelegalen' was too long…
Enigma: tsk tsk, what will we do with you? Besides indulge you, that is. ; )
Cheysuli: Bleck. Still, you gotta do what you gotta do, and I'm pretty sure no one will miss all those little monsters… Well, Furnmorth might have, but then, he's dead. And I'm sure it's not strange to think of Nowin as cute! I'm just glad you liked him, period. And besides that, I'm rather fond of him myself… He was fun to write! : )
Akia: I'm very grateful you made an exception for us. It's always nice to know there are people who enjoy reading this as much as we enjoy posting it, and longish reviews *make our day*! As for the rest of your comments/questions: see the ones for None and Cheysuli. : )
Littlefish: A thousand thanks and more! Writers will from time to time suffer a faint sense of nervousness regarding their creations and it's people like you that keep us from trashing the whole thing and starting over. And an especial hug for the dwarf comment!!! We started into that part with the vague realization that we'd never tried dwarves before… and what if they came out sounding… or what if they turned out looking…WRONG?? We didn't want to overdo the grouchiness, but didn't want to make them openly softhearted either, and in the end just crossed our fingers and went for instinct. *whew* As for nail-biting: we'll do our best! And I'm glad you're feeling better. : )
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Death or Despair
By Sarah and Hannah
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 17
Gilthad Invaded
Naraka plunged ahead, the loud cries of his army resounding in his ears as he led the charge, feeling the intoxicating thrum of battle in his veins.
As he broke through the dust, he caught sight of a huge vat not far away and smiled: it was a smelting chamber as Lord Furnmorth had predicted. It was not until he took two more steps that he saw the room was full of more than just smelting pots, however. Standing row upon row, their armor shining brightly, the dwarves were waiting for them.
There was no faltering in the ranks as the orcs poured from the hole, neither on the part of the dwarves, who stayed dourly to meet them, or on the part of the orcs, who were maddened beyond caution and charged on.
The two armies met with a clash, the deafening noise filling the high vaulted chamber, and the roar of the dwarves reverberating over all.
"DOOORRMM!"
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The archers had fired a clean row of shots, their arrows finding entrance all the way down the line, felling the orcs as if they had reached an invisible wall. The second group surged over top of the corpses, a blood-freezing yell in their throats.
Thúril stood calmly behind the barrier he had raised, letting the first of the orcs try to climb it before giving his dwarves leave to set upon them. Swinging their blades heavily, the dwarves cleaved through heads and helmets, biting through the beaten steel like it was paper, and shouting their lord's name as a battle cry. Slowly, but surely, the orcs were driven back to the wall once more, a grisly mound piled in front of the barrier. Bringing his archers back up, Thúril prepared for the next mad rush.
But Guruthos was man, not orc, and now that his troops' first battle lust was blunted and their heads were clearer, he arranged them in an orderly line and marched them back across the old guard room, their sabers drawn and held upright in a sort of en garde position. A position that, unbeknownst to them, also covered the hole in their armor.
Gesturing to his archers, Thúril ordered them back and summoned up his axe dwarves once more. "Mount the wall!" He called to them, "Take them from above."
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Bonfur had also laid a barrier, but his was broken down in the first assault and now his dwarves were backed against the wall, fighting desperately for their lives. The archers had fired one salvo, dropping many orcs where they stood, when the wall had first broken, but now they were too close to the enemy to fire accurately, and were falling back on axes like the rest, as orcs poured like black ants from the tunnel.
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After four days of travel, the running orcs had suddenly begun to move faster, as if in anticipation, and Aragorn, far from moving up the line, had been forced back. For a moment the whole column had stopped, as if the foremost runners had hit a wall, but then the group surged forward once more and he was carried on.
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Legolas was just turning towards Bonfur's storeroom, when he was startled by the sound of armor rattling down the tunnel behind him. Leaping behind a pillar, his bowstring taut, he sighted for the corner and had his arrow perfectly lined up for a spot right between the eyes when the intruder rounded the corner.
Nowin's head jerked and he raised his hand as he just caught sight of the shadow lying in wait for him. "Wait!" he called sharply, even as an arrow thudded just beside his ear, it's feather brushing him in passing.
Legolas stepped from concealment, "It is well you called, or that might have entered your head." Then it dawned on him. "What is your errand up here? You were sent to the southwest storeroom."
Nowin shrugged, "Moín has decided he has no need of archers; he never was a good shot himself. Either way, we have been sent off."
He would have said more, but the elf had retrieved his arrow and already started down the passage, calling over his shoulder as he went, "You're needed in the northwest storeroom."
"Elf." Nowin grunted, but he led his contingent of archers away.
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There was no door on the southwest storeroom, but rather a narrow tunnel, and this could only be collapsed from the inside as a last resort to keep the enemy from spreading into the mountain. Pulling it in would spell death for all dwarves still behind it, and Legolas had no intention of doing that just yet.
Running swiftly round the curves, his bow already drawn, he reached the storeroom proper and leased two arrows at once, catching an orc on the end of each shaft and sparing Orin an ugly death. Here too, as in the northwest storeroom, the dwarves had been forced back, but here, though the ceiling was higher and the range was better, there were no archers to fire volleys into the coming hordes. At each wave, the defender's line was pressed back by sheer brute strength, the lithe, wiry bodies of the orcs thrusting chest to chest with the stocky, powerful dwarves.
Even as the elf watched, they were driven another half step back.
"Moín!" Legolas called, his clear voice cutting through the din as he wove skillfully through the mêlée to where the dwarf commander was directing his company.
The dwarf did not look up, "Bern, take twenty and aim for their heart! I don't want to see you back until you've cut straight through the center and split them in two!"
The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but Moín bellowed his command afresh and the cowed dwarf stumbled away to do his leader's bidding.
"Moín!" Legolas repeated, laying his hand on the dwarf's thick arm.
Moín jerked away from the touch, his face curling into a snarl, "Listen, elf, I have a battle to fight here and I don't need you thrusting yourself in under my authority, understand?"
"But Moín, there are too many orcs coming in for a maneuver like that. You have to concentrate on keeping them in and not breaking—" The elf nearly tumbled backwards as the dwarf's hand suddenly whipped sideways, catching him hard across the side of the head.
"MY command!" Moín bellowed, his face red, "MINE! No filthy elf with bows and arrows is going to supplant ME!"
Legolas' eyes burned with disgust and fury as he turned away, stringing two more arrows and loosing them, but making no effect on the swarming masses that continued to pour from the hole. Still, he pressed on, catching sight of Bern's small troop of dwarves that were preparing for their fool-hardy rush. His eyes flicked rapidly on, looking for the orcs' leader. With a roar, the dwarves sprang forward, axes swinging as they mowed through the center of the host and cut down all who stood before them. They were nearly to the far wall, their charge having carried them like an arrow through smoke, when the 'smoke' closed around behind them. Shrieking with horrible delight, the orcs cut off their retreat, holding them isolated in the center of the horde, and pouncing.
Legolas visibly flinched as the cries of the abandoned dwarves were silenced almost immediately beneath the cruel trampling feet of their foes. With such tactics Moín stood no chance.
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Glor thumped his thigh urgently, "Come, lads, pull! Pull!"
The pile in the center of the rectangle was taller than any of them, and the shafts now extended so far that they could hear echoes of the orcs' voices, but still the poles they had inserted refused to budge. There was a sudden report from one of the levers as it snapped in two and Óen backed away to avoid the splinters.
"Óen," Glor barked, "move one pole over! Three counts, then I want each of you to pull as if your life depended on it!" *Which it does* The unspoken finish rang as loudly in the dwarves' minds as did the counts. "ONE, TWO, THREEE!" Muscles bunched and feet scrabbled in snow as every dwarf threw themselves against the levers with a yell. There was a crack like lightening striking and a black line suddenly appeared, cutting the rectangle lengthwise under the pile. Still the dwarves thrust on, faces flushing with exertion, and finally, with a crumbling groan that shook the very mountains around them, the earth began to tumble from under their feet.
"GET BACK!" Glor bellowed, grabbing the back of Frói's jerkin and yanking him away as the rectangle collapsed completely with a thunderous roar.
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Sprinting forward, Aragorn lunged between the soldiers ahead of him, his ears catching before theirs the distant rumble in the earth. Above him the ceiling began to crack and groan, the shoring spikes wavering as they struggled to hold up the tunnel, and then sliding free to land on the heads of those below.
Then, with a deafening crash, the whole ceiling caved in, crushing those still standing beneath it like insects.
Hurling himself bodily away, Aragorn struck his head on a rock and pushed himself onward. Up ahead the tunnel branched into separate passages and he was jostled by the remaining orcs to the far right, recognizing only as he choked on the roiling dust, that the dwarves had no warning, and now the enemy was coming at them through four different ways.
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Legolas snatched a knife from the belt of a fallen dwarf, hurling it towards the far side of the room. The dagger caught it's target easily, and as the orc fell, Legolas finally caught sight of the leader for this group: Balkhfiren. Even as the man looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of the elf, there was a rumbling boom from back in the tunnel as Glor finally finished his job.
The orcs, however, instead of slowing, actually came faster as those not caught by the falling stone tried to escape the confines of the underground passage. Confused by the sudden rush, the dwarves fell back even farther and Legolas caught a glimpse of an orc, slain only moments before reaching the tunnel that led into Gilthad itself.
Caught, as he was, too far from the entrance to protect it, the elf did not even wonder if Moín would doom himself to death by bringing down the passage to close them in. "Dwarf." He spat, frustration filling him as two more orcs burst their way out. In a moment the last of the dwarves would be mown down and the passage would stand open, but if he hurried, he might still be able to warn Dorm before the force fell upon him from behind.
Only one thought comforted the elf as he made his decision: at least no *more* orcs could come. Loosing arrows all the way, trying wherever possible to hit the men and therefore possibly bring down Balkhfiren before leaving, Legolas started towards the opening.
TBC…